TakeOut
by fairwinds09
Summary: Kate and Tony are picking up Chinese for the rest of the team, and get a little romance mixed in with the soy sauce.


Title: Takeout

Rating: K+

Spoilers: Basically, anything in Seasons 1 if you haven't seen those episodes yet, go watch them. Now. :)

A/N: Well...I have never written TATE before. Didn't think I ever would. But my sister just had a birthday, and she has this major thing for Michael Weatherly, and so as a favor I wrote a little 'shippy story for her. And now I am submitting it for your reading enjoyment. If you hate TATE and think that I have just committed one of the Seven Deadly Sins of NCIS (right behind screwing over your partner and spilling Gibbs' coffee), I apologize. But perhaps you can suspend reality for half a second and read it anyway...and then, let me know what you think. Hope you like it!!

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They're standing in line at the Chinese food place around the block, waiting for their usual order of kao pung and lo mein and Gibbs' favorite—the egg drop soup. They don't look like a couple—they're not holding hands or looking into each other's eyes as lovers tend to do. They're not even talking to each other at the moment. But something in the way they stand together holds weight and meaning, marks them as a unit separate and apart from the crowd around them. And as they slowly shuffle forward in the tired centipede of a line, they move together as if they have but one brain and heart between them both.

There's exhaustion written deep in the lines around her mouth, carved harshly in the circles beneath his eyes. She shifts from one foot to the other, toes clearly aching in her painfully stylish heels. He notices the movement out of the corner of his eyes and shifts a little closer. She glances at him over her shoulder and smiles a little, her eyelids falling and rising in a languid blink. Something in the look seems to give him permission to lift both hands to her shoulders and begin to gently rub the day's tension of out her muscles. She moans a little, softly, and tilts her head back in shameless pleasure as his clever fingers melt away the pent-up weeks of stress and worry. He grins a little and presses harder, until her muscles turn to putty in his hands.

When he's done, hands cramped from the effort of playing masseur, her eyes are closed and her face is smooth, at least some of the anxiety and tiredness wiped clean. She turns around slowly as his hands slip from her shoulders to his sides, and gently grips the lapels of his designer jacket, raising herself up slightly on her toes so she can press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. He flushes a little under the caress, his pupils dilating as he catches the warmth of her perfume.

"Thanks, Tony," she murmurs softly, dropping back to the ground and letting go of the heavy fabric beneath her fingers. But before she can step farther away, he slips an arm around her waist and pulls her back to him, his hand landing softly on her hip as her head finds the hollow of his shoulder. He can feel her sway a little with exhaustion, and his other hand automatically grips her shoulder, both to steady and to comfort. She sighs a little, the warm breath puffing into the hollow of his throat, and he can feel her arm slip around his waist as she anchors herself securely to him. He lowers his head until his cheek brushes the top of her head and runs a long-fingered hand over her back in a slow, soothing stroke.

"Tired?" he murmurs into her hair. She nods against his chest, one hand playing idly with the fringes of his scarf.

"I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore," she confesses quietly, her voice thick and gritty with fatigue. He chuckles a little under his breath and tangles his fingers in the silky ends of her dark hair.

"Better not let Gibbs hear you say that," he warns teasingly, and she rolls her eyes in the general direction of his collar.

"Oh, yes, Tony. I was just going to walk into the office and tell Gibbs that I can't stay awake anymore and I think I'll just curl up in his chair until I'm done with my little nap. Right."

He chuckles again, the sound bouncing against her cheek, and tugs lightly at her hair.

"Good luck with that one, Katie. But I do think we could get McGee to try it…see what happens. What do you think?"

She giggles softly and smacks his chest without force.

"You're so bad," she tells him in mock-reproof, and his teeth flash down at her in a wolfish grin.

"That's what you always tell me," he says lasciviously; she purses her lips and pushes away from him, taking her weight back onto her own two feet. He pouts a little, giving her a reproachful look from under absurdly long, dark lashes.

"You're so mean," he mumbles pathetically, enjoying her sarcastic little huff and the accompanying eye-roll. She crosses her arms over her chest and pointedly ignores him, turning around to focus on the brightly-colored menu behind the counter. He can only last a few minutes, though, and in a moment she can feel his hands warm on her shoulders, pulling her backwards into the broad shelter of his chest.

"Mmm," he mutters as he sniffs at her hair, "you still smell good, Katie."

She hmphs a little for show, but can't stop the pleased smile from spreading across her face where he can't see.

"That's what perfume is for, Tony," she tells him primly, right before he starts turning her bones to melted butter by sliding his hands down to grasp her waist and pressing his lips gently to the crown of her head. He can feel the little shiver of desire race down her spine, and feels his own body's automatic response. When she speaks again, her voice is still tired, but softer and a little husky, the sound thrumming through his veins and pooling low in the pit of his stomach.

"Think Gibbs will let us go early tonight?" she murmurs over her shoulder, her head a steady weight against his chest. He leans in to whisper an answer in her ear, and nearly laughs aloud when he hears her little gasp at the sensation of his lips against her sensitive skin.

"Got something important waiting for you at home?" he asks suggestively. She presses back against him subtly and smirks as his hands grip a little tighter around her waist.

"I could ask you the same question," she murmurs breathily, arching a little as his thumbs begin to stroke slowly up and down her lower back.

"Pity we're not allowed to believe in coincidence," he grumbles under his breath as she turns in his arms.

She grins briefly and sticks both hands in her pockets, rocking back and forth on her feet like a little kid.

"Doesn't matter either way," she points out practically. "We're not going anywhere until we get a good lead on that case. You know how Gibbs is."

He sighs a little and scuffs his feet impatiently against the cheap linoleum, the corner of his mouth turning down.

"Yeah…like a dog chewing on a beat-up old bone. We're not gonna get out of there before 3:00 AM."

She raises an eyebrow at him, a devilish little twinkle in her eyes.

"Maybe you'll even have enough time to figure out how to eat with chopsticks," she says sweetly. He glares at her, pretending to be deeply insulted.

"Cute, Kate. Very cute. See, I told you that you were always mean to me."

She grins again, her dimples popping out.

"Ah, come on. You know you love it, Tony."

He runs his tongue around his teeth in an innately suggestive gesture.

"You saying you think I have a kinky side, Kate?"

She gives him a dead-pan stare.

"Do I really even have to say it?"

He laughs out loud, tilting his head back in delight.

"You know me too well, Katie-girl."

"Oh, God. You have no idea how much that idea scares the bloody hell out of me."

He looks overdramatically hurt for a moment, and then sends her into helpless giggles by making a horrid face at her like an angry five-year-old, scrunching up his eyes and wrinkling his nose until he reminds her of her little nephew in a temper tantrum. When she finally stops laughing, he is smirking complacently at her as he digs out his wallet in anticipation of ordering.

"Ahh," she groans protestingly, "I haven't laughed that hard since Abby Photoshopped that cowboy picture of you in studs and black leather. My ribs hurt now, and it's your fault."

He fishes out a couple of twenties and leers broadly at her.

"Are you trying to tell me you're going to be sore in the morning?"

She shoots him a drop-dead glare and bends down to pick up a movie stub that fell out of his wallet onto the grubby floor.

"You still have this?" she asks in surprise, examining the little slip of paper she holds in her hand. He glances down at it and turns an attractive shade of red.

"Yeah, well, it was a good movie," he says defensively as he takes it back and starts rummaging through his wallet with suddenly renewed zeal. She looks closely at him and smiles with a hint of challenge in her eyes.

"It also happened to be our first date," she points out coolly. He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable, and dares a glance at her through his lashes. She's still smiling, but there's a softness in her eyes, a tenderness in the curve of her mouth. His lips twitch upwards sheepishly, and his eyes stay firmly fixed on his hands as he answers her.

"Yeah, I guess it was," he mutters quietly. He doesn't say anything, just fidgets with the movie ticket that he took from her, turning it over and over in his hands. Finally she reaches over and takes his hands in her own, stilling their frantic activity. He looks down at her warily, eyes unreadable in the bright fluorescent lights.

"It's okay," she murmurs softly to him as she grips his hands a little more firmly. "It's all right," she says without knowing why she's comforting him, or why he seems to want the reassurance. All she knows is that this is the right thing to do, and so she gives him what he needs.

"You don't have to say it," she tells him gently. "It's okay."

He shrugs a little, helplessly.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he mumbles to the floor beneath his shoes. "It was never supposed to mean this much, be this important. It was just supposed to be a casual fling in the office…you know?"

He looks at her with pleading in his eyes, and she can't look away even though there's pain sharply carved in the corners of her mouth.

"It was supposed to be easy," he whispers, and she nods in agreement, not daring to trust her voice just yet. He swallows, hard, and grips her hands a little harder. She draws in a deep breath and steels herself to speak.

"I know," she says starkly. "It's more than either of us bargained for. Maybe too much more."

He shakes his head emphatically, and a man she doesn't know has suddenly appeared in his eyes.

"No," he tells her firmly. "No. I'm not letting myself run away from this one. And I'm not letting you run away either. Hell, Kate, I kept that ticket for a reason, even if I didn't know what it was yet. But now…now I think I do."

She looks at him quizzically, cautiously, not letting the raging emotions in her gut show in her eyes.

"So what's the reason, then?" she asks him carefully. He gulps again and sucks in a quick breath before he opens his mouth and crosses a line he can't go back and erase.

"Because I—"

And then fate steps in and starts playing practical jokes of a very cruel nature, because just at that point the couple in front of them moves away from the counter and the man working the take-out line pins them with a worn-out stare and asks, "What's it gonna be tonight?"

Tony jumps a little and then looks faintly embarrassed; Kate stifles a grin and elbows him out of the way as she steps up and tells the waiter their usual order, complete with an extra set of chopsticks and two cartons of egg-drop soup.

"You know Gibbs is going to want a little extra to make up for having to wait so long," she tells him practically, aiming for their usual casual banter and almost achieving the right tone. He doesn't even try to respond in kind, simply nods and hands her the money to pay the bill. She takes care of the details, picks up the two sacks of steaming cartons, hands him one and takes the other herself, and then heads out the door with him in tow, while he's still off in his own little world from their earlier conversation. It's not until they're both sitting in the car with the scent of lo mein steaming up the front seat that she speaks.

"All right," she says briskly, "what were you going to say back there? And don't tell me it was nothing. I know you better than that by now, Anthony DiNozzo."

He looks over at her with his heart in his mouth and fear in his eyes and grabs the steering wheel in what she can only think of as a death grip. Teeth gritted, he shifts his gaze to some unidentified point out the front window and makes himself speak.

"I was going to tell you that I don't care that it's not what we expected, what we wanted when we first got into this thing. I was going to tell you that I kept that damn ticket because I had more fun with you that night than I'd had with the half-dozen other women I'd dated during the past year. I was going to tell you…I was going to tell you that…"

She's staring straight at him, barely breathing, and her eyes are dilated almost black with emotion. He looks into them for a long, long moment, and then stares straight ahead into the streetlit night.

"…that I'm in love with you, Kate. That I have been for nearly a year. And no matter what the hell I try, I can't seem to do anything but fall deeper in. There's no way out for me now."

She's frozen in her seat in a combination of shock and dismay and the cold, damp grip of helpless nerves. But deep in her belly she can feel a new sensation blooming, something warm and unexpected burning tremulously up to reach her chest and spread through it in a tide of irresistible sensation. She doesn't realize it, but she's pressing a hand to her diaphragm as if she can't get enough air to breathe. And without her conscious volition, she reaches over and cups his face in one slightly trembling hand.

"I don't want you to find a way out," she whispers, barely audible but gaining in strength as she goes on. "I'm falling too. And I don't want to be alone on the way down."

He turns his face in her palm, staring at her as if he's never seen anything quite like this before.

"What are you saying, Kate?" he asks, and his voice cracks a little as he voices the question. She suddenly smiles, beautifully, and the confidence that usually shines in her face is back, bright and gleaming in the dim glow from the dash.

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you too, you big Italian dolt. That I am head over heels, irrevocably, irreversibly in love. With you. The share a bathroom, fight over the morning paper, argue about getting a dog, eat off each other's plate at dinner kind of love. There. You happy?"

He looks at her for a minute longer and then lets out a long whoosh of air, as if he'd been holding it in his chest in case he needed extra oxygen for an emergency. Then an answering smile spreads across his face, equally bright and equally shining, sheer happiness leaking out of the corners and dripping between them on the seat.

"Yeah," he says slowly as his gaze eats her up bit by bit, "yeah, I think I'm pretty happy, Katie. What about you?"

She grins, dimples showing as she grabs one of his hands and plops it unceremoniously on the gearshift.

"I am overjoyed," she says delightedly, sounding a little like Abby in the giddy ebullience of her tone. "Now put this thing in gear and drive back to the Navy Yard before Gibbs sends out a BOLO for your car."

He obediently turns the key and slips the car into gear, then shoots her a puzzled glance.

"Do you usually head straight back to work after telling the men in your life that you love them?" he asks quizzically, and she tilts her head back against the seat to let her laughter ring up to the ceiling.

"Only when my boss is waiting for his Chinese take-out," she informs him teasingly. "Why? You jealous of Gibbs' slavish devotion to cashew chicken and egg drop soup?"

He mock-growls and then smirks at her helpless catch of laughter.

"I'm a terribly jealous man, Katie," he tells her dryly. "You should know that by now."

"Give me a little time here," she shoots back at him. "I only just figured out that I'm in love. Can't process too much information all in one night."

He looks over at her and grins.

"Thought you were a highly trained special agent, Ms. Todd. Having a little trouble handling the caseloads at NCIS?"

"We'll see who has more paperwork left on their desk at the end of the night, and then I'll answer that question," she tells him pertly. "And that's Special Agent Todd to you, by the way."

"Feisty," he murmurs in a seductive undertone, and she leans a little closer to whisper in his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea," she purrs slowly as her hand slips from his knee to a little higher on his thigh. He groans and clenches his teeth as his hands tighten abruptly on the wheel.

"Katie, if you want to get this Chinese to Gibbs anytime soon, you had better not tell me anything else about how feisty you may be," he warns in a strained undertone, and she chuckles wickedly.

"If you say so," she says meekly, and sits back in her seat with an evil grin spreading over her features. He chances a quick look over and mutters something rude in Italian under his breath.

"Now that you know you're got me under your thumb, you're going to make my life living hell, aren't you?" he wonders aloud, and she chuckles again.

"Now, DiNozzo, wherever did you get that idea?"

He sighs despondently. "It's always my luck to fall in love with bossy, domineering women."

She pouts a little, prettily. "Tony, is that any way to talk to the woman you love? Besides, we're here. And you'd better be nice to me, or I'll tell Gibbs that you stole half his chow mein before we got back."

His mouth pops open in outrage as he swings into his usual parking spot. "That was you!!"

"He won't know that," she points out coolly. "Grab one of the bags, will you?"

And she's out the door and into the cold fall air before he can come up with something sufficiently good in retaliation. On their way to the elevator, he has a brainwave though—one that might have something to do with the fact that his hand is currently in her back pocket and her arm is slung around his waist.

"You know I love you, Kate," he begins, grinning above her head when she sighs against his heart. "And you know that I would do whatever it takes to make you happy, right?"

She pulls back to look up at him, and the sweetness of her smile nearly bursts the already-straining seams of his heart. But he reminds himself that no matter how good love is, revenge is always better. And with that in mind, he delivers the final blow.

"But if you tell Gibbs that I was the one who took half his chow mein, I am going to personally inform him that one of his agents is breaking Rule Number 12. Right under his very nose."

She keeps the arm around his waist, but turns to glare at him with murder in her eyes.

"You do that, DiNozzo, and I am going to tell him that the other guilty party is right under his very nose as well. Not a very nice catch-22, is it?"

He grins widely and squeezes her butt through the heavy fabric of her trousers. She swats at him with the hand around his waist and slits her eyes.

"You wait till I get you home, Anthony DiNozzo," she promises with menace lacing every fibre of her voice. "You are going to suffer so much that torture from evil terrorist organizations bent on extracting every ounce of information from your writhing body is going to seem like fun. You are going to hurt so badly—"

But her voice is cut off as they climb into the elevator and he drops both bags on the floor to take her shoulders in his hands and pull her close. She comes willingly, and when he finally lets her go, they're at the bullpen and the little warning ding that announces they've arrived is ringing in their ears. She grins sheepishly and reaches up to wipe a bit of smudged lipstick off his cheek; he smiles back and tries to smooth out the messed-up hair around her face.

"Ready?" he murmurs, and she nods just a little as she bends down to pick up one of the bags from the elevator floor.

"Only if you are," she says, and tilts her head coquettishly at him as the doors slide open and the darkened bullpen takes them in.

"Where've you been?" growls a voice to their right, and they look over as one to see Gibbs glaring at them from behind his desk, his features spotlighted menacingly in the harsh glow of a single lamp. Tony gulps, and Kate pinches him from behind the cover of her coat.

"There was a really long line," she tells him matter-of-factly. "You want some soup?"

He grunts and digs around in the bag for the soup containers and some spoons. For the next few minutes, there's nothing but the sound of munching and Kate's occasional giggles as Tony struggles with the chopsticks. Then, out of nowhere, a spine-tingling growl echoes through the almost-deserted office. Everyone in the bull pen jumps as the scent of danger spikes through the air, sharp and pungent and laced with just a little fear.

As one, three pairs of eyes swing over to the tall, sturdy figure silhouetted by a desk lamp, standing at his full height next to a half-empty container of Chinese food. His eyes are sparking blue flame, his lips are pulled back in a menacing snarl, and his fists are clenching and unclenching in absolute fury.

His furious gaze rakes over the three agents perched in various positions on their desks, chopsticks (or in Tony's case, a fork) poised motionless halfway to their mouths. They stare back at him, speechless and motionless, like deer caught in the headlights. The only sign that they're still alive and capable of higher thought processes is the faint quirk at the corner of Kate's lips and the mischievous little gleam in Tony's eyes.

And then Gibbs roars suddenly at them, voice booming into the deathly silence of the bull pen like the proverbial crack of doom.

"Who the hell ate half my chow mein?"

And no one knows why Kate and Tony suddenly crack up in an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.

No one but them.


End file.
